Kaelen turned the ancient hourglass in his palm. Fine, crimson dust, unlike any he had seen outside the deepest earth-veins, flowed silently from the upper chamber to the lower. It pulsed with a faint, almost imperceptible warmth against his skin, a resonance that whispered of ages past. He had chosen it, not through hurried impulse, but a deep, unbidden pull. Within the sprawling market of the Deep-Vein Stronghold, amidst the worn tools and scavenged relics, this small vessel had called to him. Its intricate patterns, etched into its rough-hewn frame, spoke of craftsmanship from a time before the scouring dust storms had consumed the surface world. Kaelen inverted the glass again. A trickling whisper, softer than the shifting sands of the Expanse, marked the passage of moments. A strange, unfamiliar vitality stirred within his core, not of the earth, but something else, something… latent. “What are you?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Do you hold a key to my waking power?” Again, he flipped it. The reddish dust streamed. Its hue was deeper, more vibrant than the ochre sands that perpetually choked the Sundered Expanse. He had never encountered such pigment, such finely milled essence. A thought sparked. Could his abilities, so potent with the raw earth, stir something within this peculiar relic? He focused, a tendril of geomancy reaching out, a silent command for the crimson dust to obey, to cease its steady fall. Nothing. It continued its unhurried descent, indifferent to his will. Again, he concentrated, pouring more intent into the connection, willing the tiny grains to suspend. The outcome remained unchanged. His jaw tightened. A flicker of frustration, cold and sharp, cut through his usual stoicism. Had he been mistaken? Was this merely an ornate trinket, a fool’s lure? He slid the hourglass into a deep pocket of his weathered tunic. It had cost him a valuable Terra-Shard, a piece of the earth’s crystallized memory. To simply discard it now, just because it defied his power, felt wrong. Something still resonated. A bad omen, this day, Kaelen thought. But its true hardships had yet to reveal themselves. --- His lodgings awaited, a spartan cave-niche carved into the living rock, its air stale and heavy. A hulking shadow filled the entrance. Kragg stood there, a man built like a mountain of scarred rock, his bare torso a map of old wounds. Kragg’s eyes, the color of silt-choked water, fixed on Kaelen. “You the new meat that arrived yesterday?” Kragg’s voice was a gravelly rumble, like stones shifting in a landslide. Kaelen merely nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Damn you, boy! Why weren’t you at the shafts this morning?” Kragg snarled. “Anyone with sense reports for duty at the first bell. Think I’ve got time to hunt down every last slack-jawed recruit?” Stone-Fist Kragg, Kaelen knew, commanded the Deep-Vein’s mining operations. He was a force, his influence vast, second only to the Stronghold’s ruling council. Kragg oversaw the flow of Terra-Shards, the very lifeblood of this subterranean city. Kaelen spoke, his voice low, “No one informed me of the schedule.” “Inform you?” Kragg scoffed. “This isn’t the surface, boy. We don’t coddle. You arrived, you work. Simple as bedrock. Forget it. Move. Now.” Kragg had roots in the Deep-Vein, deep as a forgotten aquifer. He understood the desperate hunger that drove men here. Newcomers were always the easiest prey. They were piranhas, Kaelen realized, sensing the collective hunger of this stronghold. A newcomer, fresh blood in the water, drew them all. Kroll, the vendor, and now Kragg. They would gnaw a man to the bone. Kaelen felt a cold certainty: he was trapped. He could not reveal his true power, not yet. Defying Kragg, an Awakened of the Martial Earth category, was suicide. Not here, not now. He hadn't been given time to breathe, to understand the currents of this place. The Stronghold was already crushing him. Resisting the inevitable pull towards the mines felt futile. Kragg was a Martial Earth Awakened, his insignia – a stylized pickaxe embedded in stone – a brutal declaration of his strength. To challenge him now would be to invite disaster, a clash Kaelen could not win. ‘Caught between a rock and a harder place,’ Kaelen thought, a grim humor in the old saying. Kragg, the mine master himself, had sought him out. If the Sandworm had not devoured the other recruits, his absence might have gone unnoticed. Now, Kaelen was alone, singled out. He hesitated, a moment of defiance flickering in his eyes. Kragg saw it. A heavy fist, hard as granite, connected with Kaelen’s jaw. His head snapped back, his boots scraping the rock floor as he stumbled. Kragg’s foot landed on his chest, pinning him. “I said move, you piece of grit! Did I stutter?” Blows rained down. Kaelen curled, a shield of hardened muscle. The pain was sharp but distant, muffled, as if the earth itself absorbed some of the impact. He felt the tremor of his own power stirring, a deep, resonant rumble, itching to be unleashed. But he held it back. This was not the time for confrontation. This was time for endurance. For patience. Revenge, Kaelen vowed silently, would come later. When he was ready. Kragg’s fury subsided, the blows ceasing. He lifted his foot. “Try that again, or defy me one more time, you die. Understand?” Kragg’s voice was a low growl. “Now, follow.” Kaelen pushed himself up, his jaw aching, the taste of dust and blood in his mouth. He wiped a hand across his bruised cheek, his gaze fixed on Kragg’s broad back. A dark resolve hardened in his chest. Kragg would pay. For this, and for everything. Kragg ignored Kaelen’s injuries. Miners were expendable here. Raw material. When they broke, they were discarded. They were nothing. --- Soon, they reached the gaping maw of the mining tunnels. A gaunt miner, his face etched with exhaustion, waited by the entrance. Kragg barked, “Equip him. And quickly.” The miner scurried, handing Kaelen a heavy pickaxe, a headlamp, and a small pack filled with meager rations. “Cost of tools and supplies will be docked from your wages,” the miner mumbled, avoiding Kaelen’s gaze. “Terra-Shards go in the pack.” “That’s it?” Kaelen asked, his voice rough. “No instruction on mining the shards?” “Instruction?” Kragg roared, his voice echoing in the narrow passage. “You swing the damned pickaxe at the rock! That’s all you need to know!” The miner flinched, retreating a step. Kragg was known as the ‘Tyrant of the Tunnels,’ his temper a force as destructive as a rockfall. Kaelen stared, incredulous. They pushed men into the depths without a word, without guidance. It was a death sentence, barely disguised. “Shove this waste into The Deepscar,” Kragg commanded, pointing a thick finger at a dark opening deeper within the tunnel system. “Now, before I lose patience.” The miner, pale and trembling, grabbed Kaelen’s arm. He tugged, pulling Kaelen deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels. Kaelen heard Kragg’s parting shout, a threat carried on the stale air. “Don’t resurface without shards, boy! Remember my words!” A cold fury swelled within Kaelen, a pressure building behind his eyes. ‘That rock-hearted bastard,’ he thought. His vow was solidifying, turning to iron. Kragg would die by his hand. He swore it. Kaelen understood the Deep-Vein now. No allies. No quarter. Only predators. Weakness meant consumption. Every shadow, every face, a potential threat. He silently chastised himself for his momentary lapse in vigilance, for allowing himself a flicker of hope. He strengthened his resolve, his steps firm, following the miner through the oppressive gloom. The tunnel narrowed, a cramped passage carved by generations of desperate hands. No machinery here, only muscle and pickaxe. “Lucky you got caught when Kragg was in a foul mood,” the miner muttered, his voice barely audible. “Lost all his earnings in the Pit last night.” “A gambling den?” Kaelen asked. “Everything’s here. Gambling, distillers, dream-dust… All designed to empty your pockets and keep you bound to the mines. Best to avoid it. I’ve seen men work their lives away, just to feed someone else’s greed.” The miner had endured five cycles here. Most who started with him had met their end, crippled or crushed. Even the strongest will could shatter under the relentless pressure of this place. “Stay alert,” the miner warned. “If you want to save enough to crawl out of here.” “What kind of place is The Deepscar?” Kaelen asked, his voice low, a prickle of unease touching his skin. The name itself felt like a wound. He knew, instinctively, the tunnel was no ordinary shaft. A fleeting thought of escape surfaced, then vanished. The Sundered Expanse offered only death by dust and dehydration. He was truly trapped. ‘First, I must master my power,’ he resolved. He needed time, isolation, to gauge its true depth, to plan. Then, he would act. Forks in the tunnels appeared. The miner explained the markings. “Red arrows mean deeper. Blue arrows lead up, towards the surface. Follow blue arrows when you exit.” They had descended hundreds of meters, Kaelen estimated, the earth’s ancient memory pressing in around him. Finally, the miner stopped. “This is The Deepscar.” Kaelen stared at the tunnel’s entrance. A deeper, more oppressive darkness emanated from it, an unseen hunger. “Go in, start digging.” The miner’s voice was hollow. “Something feels wrong here,” Kaelen murmured. “Four have met misfortune inside. Be cautious.” “Misfortune?” “They died. No one knows how. That’s why no one else will enter The Deepscar. Kragg sends newcomers here.” The miner looked at Kaelen, his eyes filled with a weary, knowing guilt. He was powerless, just another cog in Kragg’s grinding machine. “I hope you emerge alive,” the miner said, his voice barely a whisper. He turned, disappearing back into the winding tunnels, leaving Kaelen alone. Kaelen gazed into The Deepscar. Everyone who entered died. Kragg sent him here, knowing that. For a bad mood, for a gamble lost. A deep, cold rage settled in Kaelen’s core. “Kragg, you will die,” he swore, his voice a rasp against the silence. He stepped into the darkness, the lamp on his helmet carving a small circle of defiance against the crushing gloom. His pickaxe felt heavy, solid. The Deepscar called, and Kaelen, the Geomancer, answered, his resolve harder than any stone. He would not merely survive. He would rise.

The Deepscar's Call